


Raised From Perdition

by Serial__writer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Missing Moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27498484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serial__writer/pseuds/Serial__writer
Summary: Missing moment set between 3x16 and 4x01, recalling the night when Castiel raised Dean Winchester from perdition. Maybe the start of a missing moments collection, who knows.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, DeanCas, Destiel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Raised From Perdition

Castiel had been observing humankind with his brothers for a while, by now. He had slowly started to learn about them, and in learning about them he had begun to understand. He could picture more clearly everyday love and hate, joy and pain, affection, anger, and fear, and with them many more nuances guiding their hearts. He couldn’t always see or understand their reasons, he couldn’t always picture clearly how all those things would feel, but the idea was crystal clear: it was as if he could see colours, and that made easier to imagine shapes and textures. Or that’s what he thought. 

There were times when he could picture them all with extreme clarity: contempt had to be the drive he felt in battle, love had to look like what he felt for his Father, and joy was probably the sensation that pervaded him when he was allowed to rest in Heaven. Then there were all the shades he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He didn’t understand how humans could hold a grudge – so easily, nonetheless – or what being envious could mean. He could not even imagine something so unpleasant to spark something like that, to bring you to the edge of losing control.

Above everything, he could not conceive the idea of doubt. Angels didn’t have anything like that in their nature: they had been created to trust the orders of God and His will, to be good and trustworthy soldiers, and trust was all that was required of them, strong enough to never falter. 

Angels weren’t able to lie, either. Demons could, everybody knew that – except when it came to deals, or at least that was the rumour on the street, even though Castiel had never met an angel crazy enough to have actually done that that could confirm it – but not angels. Their life was black and white, without any greys.

Castiel was no exception, or at least that’s what he thought. Until he met Dean Winchester.

***

It all began with war, but this shouldn’t come as a surprise. He was a soldier, any major event in his life was linked to war. But that one was not just any other war. His superiors had been mumbling and whispering for months, now: something huge was coming up and nobody had any clue what it was all about.  
Suddenly, one day Castiel was summoned. He was taken by surprise, but someone – someone in high places – wanted to see him and a handful of soldiers. They did not dare utter a word, the most valorous soldiers in Heaven were all marching in complete silence, following orders as they always had been. Something about that moment made him feel part of something. He felt chosen, special. He was proud, and as soon as he recognized the feeling he shut it down with a shiver. Good soldiers were not proud. They were humble, obedient. 

Castiel was a good soldier.

He snapped to attention as soon as Michael walked in. He was ready to get to work, sure, but there was a spark of curiosity as well. Castiel put that out quickly: he had no time for distractions, and feelings were just that, a distraction. They were just little whispers, in the beginning, but had the power to turn into screams able to make even the best soldier crazy. He had seen it with his own eyes, angels who began to feel things were the weakest. It was rare to see an angel succumb emotions, but when that had happened, consequences had been devastating. They usually happened to fall, either in battle or from Heaven, and Castiel was not sure which one was the worst.  
He stood still until Michael gave them a nod and started speaking, and the Archangel’s voice filled the room.

“The war is close, there is no reason to deny it. It is not some wild riot in hell, we are on the verge of the Great War, the one prophesized in the Scriptures, and every single one of us has a destiny – he took a deep breath and looked them in the eyes for a second – You, my dear brothers have the most important one of all.”  
Castiel could hardly believe his ears. He knew the Apocalypse would come, at some point, but he couldn’t believe he was getting the chance to see it with his own eyes. He had risked his life on the battlefield so many times that he had always doubted he could have the chance to see the day come, to live long enough to see the Prophecy being fulfilled.  
“You have to retrieve a prisoner – Michael continued, and the angels stopped murmuring – His name is Dean Winchester. You’ll recognize him right away: he is the most guarded soul in Hell. Get him out of there, the war’s fate depends on it.”

***

While he was getting ready for the battle, Castiel could feel the excitement and impatience growing inside of him. The warm feeling that he was used to feel growing inside of him as raging sea before a battle, the one pushing him to do better, to be better. He had his own troop this time, he was not used to that: he gave orders, cutting on all formalities that could only distract him from what really mattered: his mission. 

He was ready.

***

Chaos.

Around him there was nothing but chaos. Loud, ever-present chaos, undermining his men’s focus. He could hear arms clashing, friends and foes screaming as they fell around him, but he didn’t let all of that chaos slow him down.  
He had been a soldier long enough to know that that wasn’t just a battle, it wasn’t an unorganized riot. Hell had lined up its best soldiers, skilled enough to stand up to the angelic army.  
He was moving forward, driven and ruthless, tearing down demons’ lines until he saw the last outpost, the soldiers that had to protect the prisoner, sheltered away from the heart of the battle.  
Castiel caught his soldiers’ attention and in a fraction of a second they attacked it, merciless. Angels around him were falling, screaming, but he had no time to mourn them. Not until the prisoner was safe.

Finally, he saw him: he looked like he had been tortured for centuries but there was a spark in his eyes that he had rarely seen in his whole life – and Castiel had been around for millennia. The spark that only those who were not willing to give up, not any under circumstance, had. The same spark he had in battle.  
As soon as his eyes met that battered soul, Castiel shuddered. It felt as if nothing had ever really mattered until that moment, as if he was finally in the right place at the right time. After countless years of searching, he had finally found his pourpose. 

“This must be what destiny feels like. What being part of the Prophecy feels like” were the words that crossed his mind, but in the most remote corner of his mind there was a little voice, a whisper, telling him that it was more than that, that the need he felt every time he looked at Dean Winchester to take him far away from pain and despair was more than a prophecy.  
But the whisper was feeble and the battle was loud, so it took him just a couple of seconds to gather himself and start running.

***

Castiel had never run so fast in his life, but he had never had such a crucial role either. He tore down the last defences and reached Dean Winchester.  
He came closer and before he could say anything the scruffy soul looked up, met Castiel’s eyes, and did the most unexpected thing: he smiled, and for a second even the tiny whisper in the angel’s head stuttered.

Before anyone could stop him, he gripped him as if he was the most precious soul in the universe – and maybe he was, or Heaven wouldn’t have bothered save him – and he raised him.  
In a heartbeat, they were far away.

***

Castiel didn’t know how much time he had spent sitting there, by then. He was feeling torn apart and exhausted, the battle’s clashing still echoing in his ears, as if he had left even the last bit of him on the battlefield. As if some part of him died there, in Hell, and what got out looked like Castiel but wasn’t quite him.  
He sat there, looking at that bare cross for wat felt like ages, waiting: it wasn’t part of his mission, he only had to make sure that Dean Winchester got out of hell, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t walk away without making sure that everything went right, first.  
For a split second, he panicked. Was he worrying? Was he turning in a tumultuous angel? Maybe the part of him he had left on the battlefield was his second. Then, right before his mind could get lost, spiralling, something happened. A flicker, fingers scraping the soil.

Castiel felt the grip on his heart loosen a bit and, in the blink of an eye, he was far away.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo… Hey there! The first time this OS came to life it was 2013 and I was on my first Supernatural rewatch. It had been centuries since the last time I had written something but Castiel just needed to tell me his side of the story, so I had to just write it down.  
> Now, in light of recent events, I decided to translate it (surprise surprise, English is not my first language. I hope it wasn’t so obvious and I accept even the tiniest correction, I just didn’t have anybody else who could help) and to put it here so, here it is.  
> I’m not sure what will happen now, if there will be more missing moments or not, but anyway I hope you liked it.


End file.
